


Southern Hospitality

by bloodandcream



Series: Ship all the Ships [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Human Benny, M/M, Twink Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2046945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean didn’t mind being watched like that, he was used to it plenty. He knew how to turn a look like that into money when he needed it, and how to turn a look like that into a fight when he didn’t. And he knew how to look right back, when he wanted it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Southern Hospitality

Dean pealed out of the driveway, heading right on a whim, the sweltering southern heat barely remedied with windows rolled down. He wasn’t too sure where his dad was, probably drinking away the first paycheck at his new job that had them relocating down here to bumfuck Louisiana. But Dean knew that Sam was at a friends house for the night, kid made friends easy, and even though he had a rebellious streak a mile wide when it came to butting heads with their dad, he was a good kid. Dean trusted he wouldn’t be getting up to trouble with his new friend, even though she was of the female persuasion - especially though she was of the female persuasion, actually.

At least Dean had managed to snag a job for himself. It might be bussing tables, but the rent was paid and there was food in the fridge. Dean even had a little left and a night off. So he found himself getting acquainted with the back roads and byways of the quiet lazy place they’d been plopped down in. Dean knew he’d have to get a second job, sooner rather than later if he could, but an eighteen year old high school drop out didn’t have the best of prospects. It was all right. He knew how to work on his knees if he had to, last resort, but he figured he might as well scope out any places round here that he could ply that trade.

Course his stomach had to distract him, like usual. He was driving slow down a dirt lane, the Impala rocking through the dips of deep ruts. At least he had her to his name now, their father having found himself a truck to haul appliances and scrap when he had a mind to make some money. The kudzu was creeping over the edges of the road, long wisps of willow hanging down brushing by the car, and he almost wasn’t certain if he was on a public road or a private lane when he saw a neon light on a run down restaurant, advertising fresh gumbo, and the mouth watering smell of the place wrapped around him through open windows.

Dean had a few bucks to his name, and his stomach was insisting that the pb&j dinner he’d had hours ago wasn’t cutting it. So he pulled in to the dirt parking area where a few rusted and run down cars sat. The old wood building had peeling paint and a sagging porch, the screen door creaking on it’s hinges when it was open, but the inside was clean and the patrons all seemed happy and friendly. Dean supposed it had something to do with the guy that must be running joint, a big bear of a man with a broad smile that came over to him when he sat at the counter.

"Can I get you somethin’ to drink?"

"You serve beer?"

"Course."

The guy didn’t stop smiling when his gaze flicked down Dean’s face and he shook his head.

"You got some ID darlin’?"

Dean pulled out his wallet and his fake ID, which declared him Dean Smith age twenty one, and handed it over. The guy took it and looked it over, looked him over, passed it back and shook his head again. But he turned for the kitchen and came back with a brown bottle, already dripping condensation in the heat.

"Name’s Benny. You new round here? This restaurant pretty much gets all regulars, and it’s pretty much everyone in this small town."

"Yeah, just moved down for a job. This your place?"

"That it is."

"Do you serve burgers?"

"I do. But I recommend y’ought to try the gumbo. Got the shrimp and crawdad fresh this mornin’. It’s what we’re best known for."

"Sure, I’ll take a bowl."

That smile was back, Benny’s eyes lingering before he turned away.

Dean turned round in his stool seat at the counter, beer dangling between his fingers as he sipped and looked around. Benny made his way between the few customers there, refilling coffee, laughing with the patrons that were probably more like friends. There was no a/c in the place, just a fan propped in one open window that hummed noisily. Dean could feel a trickle of sweat down the curve of his spine and he wondered why he ordered hot gumbo. Everyone else in the place was red face and sweating too, clutching at cold ice teas and beers.

Eventually, Benny made his way round back to the kitchen and reappeared with a steaming bowl of gumbo, setting it down in front of Dean.

"Holler if you need anythin’."

Ringing a customer out at the register on the counter, Benny disappeared back into the kitchen.

Dean could see the sun setting behind the thick trees that surrounded the place, setting the sky on fire with bright oranges and reds. He wasn’t too keen on the overbearing heat of the south, but places like this, they had their charm. And damn but the gumbo was good, burning hot in temperature and spice but it was fresh and lively. No two gumbos were alike, he knew this was the only place he’d get some quite like Benny made it, and he figured he’d be coming back plenty if they stayed around a while.

The only other customers, a couple, made their way up to the register and summoned Benny with a little bell there, chatting with him a minute after they paid before heading out. Dean was scraping the bottom of his bowl for the last remnants of rice when Benny reached for it.

"Here, let me get you a refill, on the house. Gotta clear out the last of it at the end of the day."

"Thanks, man, I definitely know why everyone in town’s a regular here now. Figure I will be too."

"Good to hear, can always use the business."

A minute later and Dean had another full bowl in front of him. He’d order another beer but he didn’t have the money, so he asked for a water. Benny went around the restaurant, picking up dishes and wiping tables, making small talk with Dean while he did. The sign on the front door was flipped to closed, but Benny never asked him to leave. Just chatted at him while he ate the rest of his gumbo. Told him about local places, local history, about his restaurant.

Dean would have licked out his bowl if Benny weren’t around. As it was, the guy was boxing up the pie that was left from its display on the counter. Dean eyed it, apple and pecan, his mouth still tingling from the spice of the gumbo and his stomach could always make room for pie.

"How much for a slice?"

"Two fifty."

Dean checked his wallet. There wasn’t really a subtle way to check if you even had two dollars and fifty cents to your name. But he only had enough to cover the gumbo and beer, so he left it at that.

"You could always help with some dishes in exchange for the pie. My niece usually does them, she’s a waitress here, but she’s out today."

"Hell yeah I’ll clean for some pie. You make it yourself?"

"From scratch, fresh every morning."

Dean regarded the pie, carefully weighing the merits of apple versus pecan, but Benny just piled a piece of each onto a plate and slid his way.

"Thanks, man. You need the floors mopped?"

Benny smiled at him, with his eyes and his mouth, and Dean didn’t know if this guy had any setting other than genuine.

"I sure won’t turn down the offer."

Dean wolfed down his two slices of pie, not necessarily eager to catch up with Benny who was already cleaning, but unable to pace himself with how goddam delicious the pastry was. Hopping off his stool, he took his own dishes back to the kitchen, finding his way easily enough to the big ceramic sink where the other dishes were piled, filling it with hot water and rooting around underneath for a minute to locate the soap.

Benny came in sweeping, and Dean caught him staring. The other man just smiled.

"Guess y’can just go on and make yourself at home."

"Kitchen’s aren’t too hard to navigate."

"True enough."

Dean was up to his elbows in dirty dishes, wondering if the piles on the counter next to the full sink were the accumulation of the whole day, dried and hard to scrub. He was starting to wonder if it was worth a piece of pie. But he figured it was worth Benny’s company too. The man nudged him aside from the sink, hip to hip, pushing a bucket under the faucet to fill for mopping.

"You want me to do that?"

"Nah, guess there’s more dishes than I thought."

"Not like I have any plans. What could be more exciting?"

"Oh, I could think of a few things."

Dean was tall, just about eye level with Benny, and pretty sure he was still growing. He felt small next to the man’s bulky presence, frame still thin and muscles still filling out. Benny’s hands were thick and calloused, nails blunt, broad like the rest of him. Those warm blue eyes regarded him a minute while the bucket filled, neither of them stepping back from where they were still pressed at the hips.

Then Benny went about the mopping and Dean continued on with the dishes, chatting to each other across the restaurant. Benny told him about what to expect of the weather, and the locals. He tried to get Dean to talk back about where he came from and what he was doing but when Dean deflected his questions, Benny stopped trying and filled up the space with his drawling southern accent instead, content with a one sided conversation.

By the time Dean was done his fingers were starting to prune and the whole front of his shirt was sticking to him wet from sloshing water all over. Wiping sweat off his brow with his forearms, the sodden black tee rode up, jeans dark at the top from water too. Benny watched him, holding his mop still, obvious in his regard.

Dean didn’t mind being watched like that, he was used to it plenty. He knew how to turn a look like that into money when he needed it, and how to turn a look like that into a fight when he didn’t. And he knew how to look right back, when he wanted it. So he lifted his shirt up about half way and wrung the wet material out. Benny set his mop against the wall, and the next thing Dean knew he was backed up against the hard line of the sink, Benny pressed against him.

"Sugar, anyone ever tell you teasin’s not nice?"

"Is it nice if I’m not teasing?"

"Your name even Dean?"

"It is."

"Are you even legal?"

"I might not be legal for beer, but I’m legal for this."

Benny smiled and huffed a quiet laugh, Dean’s hands heading for the ‘this’ that he wanted, wet fingers pulling at the leather of Benny’s belt.

Dean had already learned from life that you didn’t always have to have a job to get what you needed, that favors and services could be traded and tallied. Sometimes making the right kind of friends could get you what you needed, and he knew how to make friends. He also knew not to be shy in taking what he wanted, finding what little comfort or pleasure he might where he could, because life was a volatile thing. His past wasn’t something he liked to think on too hard, and he didn’t really see any future for himself. So he took the present head on and shook every bit of sweetness he could out of it.

Benny’s sure hands pulled his wet shirt up and flung it aside, hands back on his skin flushed hot, fingers fanning out and spreading over his ribs. The man had a short well kept beard, streaking gray, that tickled on Dean’s soft face when he tilted forward to kiss. Slow and sweet, like easy southern summers, Benny was comfortable and undemanding. Dean licked into his mouth, plush lips curved in a smile, still tasting of pie. Benny’s fingers traced up the slope of his spine and pressed against the jut of his shoulder blades. Dean worked his hands under denim, Benny half hard and thick.

Dropping to his knees with fluid ease, Dean kissed down the length of his cock, skin soft, uncut, dipping his tongue under the foreskin to swirl around the head. Pants barely opened, Benny looked down at him with an amused twist to his lips at the swift turn of pace, cock quick to harden and one big hand carding through short hair. Dean skipped the teasing, sucking the tip into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the slit. Benny’s cock was like the rest of him, thick and imposing. But Dean could appreciate a challenge.

Working down the length, pushing his tongue along the underside with faster strokes than his mouth moved, he took it an inch at a time, working down and pulling up before going down farther. Lips stretched wide, he paid no mind to the saliva dripping down his chin and Benny’s cock, slick and messy.

Forcing past his gag reflex, he felt the burning stretch of his throat opening wider around Benny, eyes pricking with tears as he pushed it, nothing if not determined. Looking up, Benny was curled over him, arms braced past his head on the edge of the sink. Benny’s mouth hung open, sweat on his brow. A hand found it’s way to Dean’s cheek, thumb brushing aside a tear and stroking over the arch of his cheekbone. “Easy there sugar.”

Dean swallowed around him, arching his neck and moving only slightly, keeping Benny deep in him but sliding his muscles until he couldn’t breath, pulling back and taking in air through his nose, tongue curling around the head. Benny curled his hand through Dean’s hair and cradled the back of his head, gentle, fingers rubbing circles against his scalp.

Benny tugged lightly at his short hair, both hands coming down and gripping him around his ribs, pulling him up.

"C’mon back up here darlin’, gettin me too worked up."

"You that easily excitable, old man?"

It was an offhand comment barbed in jest, but Dean was curious how old Benny was. He didn’t look it much, tan and thick muscled. But his eyes crinkled with crows feet when he smiled at Dean and there was grey at his temple. So he was curious. Didn’t mean he had to think too hard why he wanted to know more about Benny.

"Relax darlin’. Call it southern hospitality, but we like to take our time down here. Can’t work too hard in the heat."

Benny pulled his plain white shirt up and off, tossing it in the general direction of Dean’s. Thick fingers hooked under the waist of his jeans and pulled him close, working open the button and zipper. Benny was broad and hairy, from his collar bone to his hips, but what caught Dean’s attention were the tattoos on his upper arms. Nautical themed, bright colors popped out from hard muscled arms, swirls of blue water and green scaled mermaids. Dean traced the patterns with his fingers and his mouth, while Benny pushed his pants down over slender hips.

Strong hands pulled him aside and across the room, heaving him up on a solid wood table, thick and heavy from the looks of it. Turned round, ass up, he was man handled to kneeling on the table with his thighs spread, cock twitching up against his stomach as he was left bare and exposed. Looking over his shoulder, Dean saw Benny rummaging in a cupboard, coming back triumphant with a bottle of cooking oil.

"What do you want sugar?"

"Whatever you want to give."

A hand soothed down the small of his back and the muscle of his ass, down a firm thigh. His hair was soft and thin, still growing in - he hoped. Though his beard came in full stubble after a few days at least, he still didn’t have any hair on his barely defined chest, all smooth lithe muscle. Bowing his head forward, Dean rested his forearms on the table, wrists crossed, head nestled on his hands.

He expected a finger or two, but Benny really did mean to take it slow, hands stroking the backs of his thighs and knuckles brushing against the stretch of skin between his legs and his sac. Barely there light touches working him up, then a tongue joined them, licking the crease at the tops of his thighs, teeth nipping the firm skin of his backside, lips pressed against the tight furl of his hole.

Dean felt a shudder trip up his spine, skin pricking up in goose flesh despite the heat. His heart rate picked up, breath catching, when Benny really started rimming, tongue circling round, wet and hot and giving him just enough to make him loosen with want but not enough to take him apart.

"C’mon Benny."

"Be patient darlin."

"C’mon."

Rocking his hips, Dean pressed back against him, asking for more with his body, wanting anything Benny had to give, needing more than he got. Benny licked him open, slow and steady, kissed up the curve of his ass to the dimples at either side of his spine when two slick fingers pressed in. Dean shuddered with the breath he didn’t realize he was holdings, muscles going slack and back rolling as he pushed himself onto Benny’s fingers.

Loose and ready, Benny slid a third finger in and started stretching him with long deep strokes, licking the sweat off his back and sucking bruises into freckled skin as he did. Dean braced himself on the table and eased into a rhythm with Benny, shoulder blades jutting up where he rolled his torso from chest to hip, spine stretching and curling, legs tensed.

"Think you’re ready?"

"Yeah, yeah I’m good."

Dean swallowed a moan when Benny twisted his fingers, pulling wide and pushing back in crooked down, making his stomach convulse with the intensity as he stroked something deep inside. As soon as he had found it, his fingers were gone, hands bracing on Dean’s hips pulling him off the top of the table onto his feet, thighs nudged apart, bent forward. He could feel the slicked hard heat of Benny in the crease of his ass, rutting against him, and he pushed up onto the balls of his feet to gain a little height.

Benny held him steady with a firm grip, bodies sliding too easy with sweat, and pushed slowly into him. Dean felt his breath hitching and his hands clench on the edge of the table at the hard insistent pressure stretching him wider and wider still. Benny eased in gentle partway, hands stroking over his sides, waiting for Dean to take a breath, ribs pushing out with it, back curled forward, muscles tensed. He felt it ease after a minute, steady breaths, patient, and rolled his hips back against Benny, taking him in most of the way.

Benny kissed the dip between his shoulders, the knob of his spine, the side of his neck, nosing against the back of his ear. Dean heard him murmuring senselessly, sugar something, good boy, and he could admit to himself when no one was looking how nice it was to hear that now and then. That he could be good for something, that he could be wanted. It felt almost too tender, despite Benny’s size and gruff exterior, with how reverent his hands were on Dean’s skin, how light his teeth against the sensitive parts of Dean’s neck, how languorous his hips thrust into Dean. Dean tried to stifle a moan with his hand but Benny pulled his hand down. “Wanna hear you darlin.”

Then calloused hands were lifting up one of his thighs, at the back of his knee, pushing a single leg up over the edge of the table and holding him, spread wider and bent over, Benny reaching even deeper. Angled forward just right Benny fucked into him hard and sure, body rocking with the force of it, balanced on one foot and held up, by his hands and the press of his body, Dean surrendered and let the pressure ripple through his lax body. Thick fingers circled his cock, Benny’s chest pressed against his back, bodies sliding against one another, teeth on the curve of his shoulder.

Dean felt it crest and break with a sudden jolt, surging through him and out, moaning hoarse and he didn’t even hear himself begging for it. Benny stiffened against him, pushing up so hard he barely stood on his toes, suspended for a moment before he folded over and went limp on the table with Benny panting behind him. One leg still crooked up, Benny lifted and pushed him, flipping him over, till he lay on his back on the table, blissed out and mind empty, body still thrumming with the energy.

Body slick with sweat, he felt the warm slide of come between his thighs, vaguely wondering if this was the table that Benny made his pies on. Snapping back to reality when he felt something cold pressed against the side of his neck, Dean looked over to see Benny standing with a cup smiling at him, fingers holding a small chip of ice against his lips. Dean opened for it gratefully, sucking the rapidly melting ice, cold water trickling down the back of his raw throat.

Benny plopped down on a chair, naked, tipping a few chips of ice into his mouth before feeding Dean another. Neither seemed inclined to speak, too tired or hot or just comfortable with the loose ease between them. Dean was sucking on another ice chip when he felt the cold sharp bite of ice on a nipple. Gasping in a breath, body shuddering, he cocked an eyebrow at Benny and rolled partly onto his side.

"Gotta find a way to keep cool in this heat."

"Mhmm."

"You should come back again some time, I make a mean blackberry pie."

"Oh I’m sure you’ll be seeing me around here again."

"Good."

"You could always give me your number."

"I suppose I could."

Benny left the cup of ice next to his head, dipping forward to press a kiss to his forehead before standing and finding his pants. Dean stretched up, sucking on some ice, hopping off the table and reaching above his head, back popping. He dressed with a stupid grin on his face, shirt still wet from dishes and sticking to his sweaty skin. Benny came back around with a box in his big hands, offering it up to Dean with a sheepish smile. There was a slip of paper on top with a number scrawled on it in looping wide letters. Dean lifted up the edge of the lid, slices of pie filling up the box.

"Y’ought to take that back with you. Need to put some meat on your bones."

"Tryin to fatten me up so I can’t run away?"

"Just take the pie, boy, lord knows I don’t need it."

"Thanks Benny. I’ll be seeing you round."

"Drive careful now."

Dean made his way through the dark restaurant out into the night, noisily alive with chirping insects and lit up with the brightness of the star filled sky. He’d been reluctant to move here, like he was reluctant to move anywhere their father dragged them, but he figured it might not be so bad after all.

The night air was cool whipping through the windows rolled down as the Impala eased off the dirt back road to a paved stretch of asphalt, revving loud and taking off. Dean had a full belly, a pleasant ache in his ass, and a box of pie on the passenger seat to share with Sammy. He might think of it as a tip for a job well done, but it’s probably just Benny and his southern hospitality.


End file.
